


I'm no boyfriend material

by orphan_account



Series: Carve your place in my heart [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23000674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “I like you”, he told Sakusa, voice cracking in the middle and skyrocketing his dignity to Jupiter, “so you should definitely date me”
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: Carve your place in my heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660912
Comments: 11
Kudos: 320





	I'm no boyfriend material

**Author's Note:**

> Or how Atsumu is the possibly worst person at dating as his social butterfly personality is all talks and smug smiles, but despite everything he still manages to confess and get a boyfriend who is even more problematic than he is, in the form of a very pissed Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Anyone who had spoken a total of five minutes or just as much as glanced at Atsumu Miya, would without a doubt assure that the boy was a heart-breaker. And they wouldn’t be wrong if all it entailed was being a big ass jerk, manipulate other people and have an ego twice as big as himself. But truth was, for everyone that had the misfortune of actually knowing him, that the only thing that housed Atsumu Miya’s mind, was volleyball and volleyball only.

Dating as a concept hadn’t grazed Atsumu’s mind not even once in the span of his life. Of course, he had experienced certain _needs,_ he was young and healthy and he surely wasn’t shy of anything concerning his body, but he had always made do with an empty bedroom and some old-fashioned porn tape.

Having a twin with whom you shared basically everything, bedroom included, hadn’t always played on his side and more often than not he had ended into a fistfight for getting handsy right above his brother head, right when he was finally falling asleep. Or for stealing from ‘Samu’s own stash of porn magazines -honestly, recordings where much better anyways.

That’s why he found himself at a total loss when, twenty-three years into his life and a starter position as the starting setter in one of Japan’s stronger volleyball teams on his back, he came down with a _crush._

First of all, Atsumu wasn’t supposed to be the one crushing. People were supposed to crush on him, love and desire him from afar, because he was untouchable, a force to be reckoned with, a godlike being while on court and a big-headed, self-serving jerk on daily basis.

Secondly, between all the likable human beings that had the rare chance of crossing his path, why did it have to be Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Since the first time he had met him at the All-Youth Training Camp, they had started off with the wrong foot. Dislike apparent between them, they just kept grating and pushing on each other nerves in an unending competition of _arseholery_.

They were both too young and with a reputation too big for their boots, to maintain a mutual respect out of the general wariness of the other’s skills on court and the threat it represented because of them. And so, their high school years passed and they lost sight of one another.

It was certainly a surprise then, when none other than Sakusa Kiyoomi set foot into the MSBY Black Jackals’ reserved gym one uneventful day, all hard glares and expensive looking jackets and that obnoxious face mask he still insisted on wearing.

Thus their bickering picked up once again, with the addition that now the desire to crush the other was replaced by the potential of using the other -in Atsumu’s case, at least- to all but reduce to a hopeless and demoralized pulp their opponents. With Sakusa’s spike power and hypermobile wrists alongside an out-of-league athlete like Bokuto and a rising star like Hinata, Atsumu felt like he really wasca step away from heaven.

Amidst his obnoxious pestering, however, Atsumu had started to maybe appreciate too much the sight of the other, his impeccable form and merciless shots. The way he brushed his newly styled hair back when they hanged over his forehead, heavy with sweat, the way he would minimally thin his eyes and how the tight line of his mouth would quirk upwards at the ends after he called him out on an exceptional kill.

He still felt the urge to smash his teeth in, but he also wanted to kiss him, hold his hand and do all kind of gross things, like stroking those freakily bendy wrist or pat the crease that formed in between his eyebrows when he pulled all those atrocious faces.

He was certain he could keep it -whatever _it_ was- under control, but things soon went flying out of the window.

At practice, although his performances were no less than impeccable, his head was all over the place, he couldn’t not notice his teammate, his eyes automatically traveling through the court or whatever space they shared at the moment, to fix on a very specific mop of black curls. At the end of the day he was seeing crisscrossed with a headache not even ‘Samu’s screeching had ever given him.

He had started being hyper aware of two very well-known, very cold eyes that promised bloodshed to anyone who dared taking a step too close to his comfort zone, or in Atsumu’s case set him a ball slightly off -which really was just his paranoia doing its thing because his sets were perfect 24/7.

Anyways, Atsumu felt proud for keeping his façade and effortless smile in check every time that happened -which was more often than he would have liked to admit, outer image as pristine as ever while inside he was caught in a hurricane that promised to swipe him off his feet and turn his skin inside out.

That’s how he ended up having a one-on-one with his reflexion in his flat’s narrow bathroom one cursed night, and understood that he couldn’t self-brainwash himself into getting rid of the crawling in his chest that was so carefully digging up a small place reserved to one very unreadable, very _handsome_ spiker.

After the initial existential crisis and the resulting _absolutely_ _not_ humiliating call with his brother during which he _totally_ _didn’t_ tear up a bit, that earned him a month worth of cussing and a rude hang up, he decided to do what he did best. That is taking matters into his own hands hoping an above magnanimous force would save him from ending his life to the hands of one germophobe asshole.

Atsumu approached Sakusa with all the bravado of a man walking to his own execution: all wobbly steps and sweaty palms. At some point he thought he heard one of his teeth bust at how hard he was clenching them behind his signature smirk.

His claimed aloofness chose to give up on him right at that moment because Sakusa spotted him the moment he turned the corner to the gym entrance, eyes zeroing on him, stride not faltering once, but brow furrowing in that knotty pattern it took when he was annoyed.

That was the moment Atsumu died and the last image embed in his memory would be Sakusa’s hung-up face, crowned by those wiry fingers twitching inside the sanitary gloves he wore to take the train.

Osamu will _howl_ with laughter on his deathbed.

If Atsumu was a crumb less than self-centered and obdurate, he would have admitted that what happened next easily topped the list of his life’s worst performances, placing immediately after the time when his play-starting serve ended up hitting Kita-san’s skull.

“I like you”, he told Sakusa, his voice cracking in the middle and skyrocketing his dignity to Jupiter, “so you should definitely date me”.

He waited for the final blow of rejection to come wide eyed and unguarded, like an idiot running into a crossfire with a bull’s eye drawn on his forehead. Staring into those impossibly black and impossibly deadpan eyes, not a crinkle disfiguring Sakusa’s smooth statuary features.

Maybe if he put the right amount of strength with the right angulation of those twisty wrists, he could knock him out cold, removing him from his misery, but then again, that would entail punching him, with his hands, his hands touching his face, equal physical contact which was a big no-no for him.

Sakusa said “okay”, like he was agreeing with a sales agent sponsoring microfibre pillows that were also dust-repelling, it would have been the dream of a lifetime for a clean freak like him, but it turned out as soulless ever.

Atsumu opened his mouth to somewhat defend what little dignity he had left, but was stunned into silence as his brain registered the words. He murmured “huh”, as he mulled over the situation. He hadn’t taken in count, of all things, the eventuality of Sakusa actually consenting to the whole dating nonsense he had pulled right off the bat.

All too suddenly the glass-thin calmness that fell with Atsumu’s first words was broken by Sakusa’s growing broodiness, he takes a step forward, one good body’s width still dividing them, shoulders impossibly wider as he glowers Atsumu down that handful of centimetres of difference they have, eyebrows doing all kind of disturbing things. A fleeting thought sparks into Atsumu’s mind: it’s here and there that he gets punishment for all his rottenness, from one beautiful odd jerk.

Except the hit never comes and he is left staring even closer into those same orbs. This being the closer he has ever been to the other he can discern details that would pass unseen otherwise, like how the moles over his right eyebrow are perfectly symmetrical or how the strings of his stupid facemask ruffle up the dark curls over his ears. Or the edge of _something he can’t yet place_ that makes his cold eyes look much softer than his ugly personality should allow.

“Is this a joke”, still his voice sounds like a very dispassionate weather forecaster, “because none of your jokes are funny, but this would be straight up nasty, even for someone like you”.

“Someone like me- HEY! I can’t believe I actually like someone like _you_! You’ve been fucking up my mind so much is a miracle I can still set straight balls”, his hands are trembling and something prickles at the back of his throat, he is so _embarrassed_ he wants to dig a hole in the concrete and bury himself in it, maybe drag that uptight moron with him too and watch him squirm and panic among all the dirt.

“That’s your own problem”, he is getting defensive again, shoulders hunching and gloved hands digging into his jacket pockets. The unusual edge is gone and his eyes look as merciless and blank as ever.

Atsumu is ready to holler on, crying out that he had _just_ agreed, he said _okay_ and he can’t leave him hanging now. What was the okay for anyway, okay I recognize that you like me, good luck with that? Okay I agree to date you even though I’m being the same fussy asshole as always? Okay, all the above, and I maybe like you back enough not to want to strangle you with my alien joints?

From behind Sakusa two rather familiar voices shout what sounds very much like ‘hey, hey, hey’ and in no time Bokuto and Hinata are crowding over them, overexcited and rowdy as always, despite the time of the morning.

Sakusa scrunches his nose in distaste from behind his mask as his precious personal space gets disrupted so carelessly. He seamlessly extracts himself from the bundle of energy that are their teammates, sidestepping them in favour of entering the gym and have a head start on his way-too-long changing routine.

As he disappears inside the building Hinata pipes up, asking “is he okay?”, brown eyes following his fellow spiker like a puppy getting his favourite chewing toy taken away.

“ ‘said he had to take a shit”, Atsumu is _raging_ inside, even more than the time Osamu put his dirty underwear under his pillow in payback for eating the last very expensive, very deluxe pudding.

If that day at practice Atsumu sent some purposefully wicked sets Sakusa’s way, the spiker doesn’t seem to care or as much as notice, his face remains expressionless, his back, as he slowly retracts to the back line, with his shoulder blades creasing the ugly yellow tee he so obstinately keeps wearing, looks like a face mocking him and his inner pandemonium.

He sneers back at it.

Of all the things he expected once he stepped foot outside -his brother still wearing his work uniform, having somewhat come to know of his earlier total fiasco and having driven his way there just to laugh himself to a lung failure, being his top fear so far-, Sakusa standing stiffly some feet away from the back door of the gym looking like a dog had just pissed on his shoe, wasn’t one of them.

They stare at each for one, two beats then Atsumu backpedals his way inside, determined on making his way through the gym to the front doors rather than facing the problem -problem he had created- like grown-ups. He surely wasn’t one and he is starting to doubt Sakusa actually had the maturity people addressed him only because he kept himself away from his teammates’ shenanigans.

“Don’t”, and he actually stops, foot lifted to climb the first step. All of a sudden, he feels like a kid once again, seven years old and hiding inside the cabinet, his mother searching the house, fly swatter in her left hand and a crying Osamu in the right because _goddamnit that cake was supposed to be our neighbours’, not your snack._

“Did you mean that?”, unrelenting Sakusa bulldozes on, like when he spikes through a block, oblivious to the fact the ‘block’ right now are Atsumu’s feelings and they are very not ready to take that kind of brunt. He feels like someone ripped him in half like a bag of marbles and his bearings are scattered all over the floor and he is just running around trying to pick them up, and-

He takes a deep breath and twirls around, Sakusa hasn’t as much as moved an inch from his previous position, the only unfixed part of him being his hair, dark curls ruffled by the light evening wind. The bottom half of his face is covered by a _purple_ scarf, the edge of a surgical mask poking from under it. He should look stupid and not make Atsumu’s intestines wiggle around like he had just eaten a packet of Pop Rocks with a sprite.

He stutters, “I- ye-e-p. I mean that”, and ends up sounding cheeky. Well, he could do with that.

Sakusa’s eyebrows knotted together and twitched repeatedly and Atsumu is starting to fear the amount of muscle control he has over them. His eyes are scrunched up and that weird edge is back on them, making them look tenfold deeper. He tilts forward, wavy bangs jostling in the empty space between them, and it has all the power of those girls with white dresses and black hair curtaining their faces of the horror clips Suna liked so much to make them watch during movie nights.

“I wouldn’t say something I don’t mean” and Atsumu flared up, the jab hitting some deep part of him, other than his ego, because he had just opened a part of himself he didn’t even know was there and now he was getting picked on precisely because of that.

He bits his tongue not to retort back something he would most likely regret later.

They hold a staring contest for all of thirty seconds before Sakusa curtly nodds and mumbles a _see you tomorrow_. Then he walks off, spine straight as the streetlamps bordering the sidewalk.

“Hah”, Atsumu says to the empty night, but again he has no actual idea what’s going on.

Once he closes the door of his flat behind his back and lays on his bed, his mind does a three-hundred-and-sixty degrees revolve of the latest events, him confessing to Sakusa, Sakusa saying okay, Sakusa-

_I wouldn’t say something I don’t mean._

Sakusa had never rejected him, so if he hadn’t been rejected, and Sakusa had said _okay,_ they were officially dating. _But I wouldn’t say something I don’t mean._

Atsumu groaned and fisted a pillow to his face, words muffled by the soft fabric, “whaddafuck is that suppos’da mean?”

It was impossible to say that the start of their relationship changed something at first, it wasn’t even clear _how_ it started, to start with.

To an external onlooker they came across as two obstinate mules that walked from and to the train station side by side every day, a person’s worth of space in between them, making a challenge of who could go faster without actually running. Friends at the very least, rivals for sure. But a couple?

But still something had changed, maybe not on an apparent level. Sakusa still kept his distances and surely he didn’t reserve sugar coated words for Atsumu and Atsumu still made his purpose in life, other than being the best setter to ever grace the volleyball court, of driving the other insane _._

But _something_ had changed. Right?

It’s wasn’t like they didn’t already know each other, they were teammates, had been for a while now, they probably had a deeper bond than most fresh couples did, one that came with the necessity to speak without words, to know where the other was, what he needed and how to give it his best. On the other hand, that didn’t help ease the awkwardness building between them, stronger and more blatant than before. They were tiptoeing around each other, unsure of which buttons to press and which not to, but both too proud and stubborn to bring it up first.

As time went by the situation became unbearable and almost embarrassing, like two man quietly sipping tea and pretending not to see the big pink elephant dancing the boogie boogie beside them.

It was not even three months into their new and unbelievable relationship that Atsumu eventually cracked, doing it in the most _brilliant_ of ways, like a clown walking on stilts.

Couples were supposed to do _couple things,_ right? Like walk hand in hand, hang out, watch volleyball matches together, _kiss_.

Well him and Omi-kun had done absolutely none of that. Touching was out of the way - _even though they could surely hold hands if they both wore gloves-_ let alone doing even more physically demanding stuff, let alone kissing. Atsumu knew what he was getting himself into when he pointed a finger at his own reflexion and told it to stop crushing over some constipated clean-maniac, resulting in a very hopeless failure because you can’t just teach your heart how to unlearn to love someone.

 _Love_ , _love_ , _love_. Isn’t it too soon to say it? Atsumu felt like he had been starving until he knew that word.

They could still hang out, sure, but not at cafés or other crowded places, not at parks were there was a oh so high chance of catching a disease from all the bugs and small animals buzzing around. Kiyoomi’s house was like the sacred temple of some century-old and forgotten cult, a place where only the chosen ones were granted access through a purifying shower – or maybe two or three- and a pair of clean, antimicrobial socks. It definitely wasn’t the place where someone like Atsumu, with his after-practice-shower routine and worn out unmatching socks, was welcomed.

So the trip from the train station to the gym and vice versa was it and it was more than Atsumu could have dreamed off considering in none of his sleep induced mirages – not even the ones that left him stoned and fairly troubled for some hours after he woke up- Kiyoomi had even came close to agreeing on going out with him, let alone getting himself into a relationship of any kind _with_ _him_.

He was content with it, if only for the fact he actually wasn’t. He had to be, he wanted to be, but he _craved_ more, so much more.

He wished they could walk hand in hand into practice uncaring of the dumbfounded faces of their teammates, he wished he could erase the horrible expression Kiyoomi was able to pull off when he was driving himself onto a panic -he had experienced it briefly and had been all but useless at the time, but it had been enough to keep him awake the following night- and kiss him stupid until all he could think of was Atsumu and Atsumu only.

Sometimes he yearned to touch that pale skin, to drag his fingers through those soft looking curls, so hard that his hands started to tingle and he had to punch a pillow to make them stop.

But above all of that he wished he could recall even one memory to prove that he wasn’t the only one stressing over the invisible wall of boundaries dividing them, that he wasn’t the only one feeling so miserable yet so _euphoric_ when Kiyoomi was near him.

He wished that Kiyoomi would come to him, with all the reluctance of a kid sent to greet his never-seen-before uncles, to tell him _yes, I like you too_ , like he would tell a stranger he was standing in his path.

If someone had told Atsumu that in the span of some months he would reverse into a middle-schooler at her first crush, he would have laughed in their faces and then flicked them off because Atsumu Miya didn’t care about meaningless stuff.

Present Atsumu Miya very much cared about said meaningless stuff and was very much losing his mind trying to find a way to make this work.

Because he wanted all of Kiyoomi – and when did _Kiyoomi_ take the place of Sakusa, but he wanted him to want all of himself too.

Practice had been rough that day, Bokuto’s mood kept going up and down like a roller coaster and Atsumu was caught in between keeping an eye on the white-haired spiker and splitting his remaining attention between his other teammates.

In moments like this he pitied all those setters that didn’t have enough grip to hold the reins of their team and all but crumbled bringing their whole team with them. After all, there was a reason if he had been chosen over his brother -even if he was the one who turned it down in favour of spiking- back in high school, and he liked to think he was one of the calamities that assured them a spot at the nationals.

“Stop smiling like a creep and get your ass over here. We are doing approaching drills”, Kiyoomi’s voice shocked him out of his stupor and yes, he might have been unconsciously gloating over his own skills and it might have showed on his face just a little. He made sure his next smile was ten times as smug as before.

“Were you staring Omi-Omi?”, he pressed, head tilting in mirth as it made the other cringe in apparent annoyance, snarky remark dying on his tongue as he looked increasingly constipated, like he had to take a shit but someone was occupying the only available toilet.

Atsumu felt like he was breathing laughing gas instead of oxygen, tears sprang to his eyes as he bugged on “you were, weren’t ya?”

“Don’t be stupid and don’t call me that. Of course I wasn’t”, he turned to leave, stopped, then side glanced him and said “not like there is something to stare at” and left after his outraged shout of _‘Omi-kun’_ like he hadn’t just plummeted Atsumu’s confidence like a needle nipping a balloon.

Atsumu’s mood was sour from that moment on, he even snapped when Bokuto jokingly told him he was being dramatic, like he wasn’t the first and foremost drama queen, relishing in how the spiker’s shoulder deflated and even his hair seemed to lose their usual anti-gravity quality when he all but said so to him.

Boyfriends were supposed to be nice, nice, nice. Do nice stuff for you and say nice stuff to you. Atsumu didn’t deserve such harsh treatment and carless regard, he was a perfect boyfriend, he was _nice_ , oh so nice he never brought up the fact that _you don’t even act like you like me, you barely stand me, then what the heck are you still doing with me._

Atsumu’s own conscience laughed at his face and it sounded a lot like Osamu.

When practice ended, they all made a beeline to the locker room, joking and chattering at a lower volume than usual and sending careful glances Atsumu’s way, like he hadn’t already figured out they were avoiding him -demeanour usually reserved to one gloomy spiker. It made him itch with frustration because _you are turning me into you and I can’t not want you to turn a bit into me as well._

He zipped his bag open with the same force he reserved to a very stubborn packet of Kappa Ebisen Plum Flavor snacks -the ones Kourai-kun had made him taste and with which he had been obsessed since- receiving disconcerted looks from his teammates, Hinata -sweet small, beam of sunlight- being the closest to him opened his mouth to possibly inquire on his well-being, but was preceded by another voice, one he really, really didn’t want to hear right now.

“What’s wrong with you? You’ve been more of a jerk than usual to everyone, ever thought about descending your high-horse for once in your life?”, Kiyoomi’s eye were trained to his jersey which he was carefully folding into his gym bag, from which he then retrieved three microfiber towels of different dimensions.

In his peripheral vision he saw the nervous glances the occupants of the room were shooting each other and for a fleeting instant he considered not falling for those words as to save his teammates the role of awkward bystanders, but then he remembered that he actually didn’t care about their opinions.

“So you only care when I act like a jerk! Huh, I didn’t know you were into that kind of things, Omi-kun, but then, I’m quite versatile so-“

“Stop being a brat and making it all about you”, Kiyoomi interrupted him and _that_ was exactly what he needed -or better shouldn’t have said to make Atsumu’s long bottled frustrations and crippling doubts explode into a petty argument that showed just why he wasn’t dating material -he totally was datable, but not dating approved, never should it be him the one wooing.

“You know those groups of people that although they comply with every and any demand of their leader, are completely unaware that they do so and they think they are utterly independent in their choices? Well, Omi-Omi, I’m _that_ leader, so it honestly is all about me”, the moment he said that he regretted it with every protesting fibre of his body.

The look Kiyoomi sent him at that moment would and will definitely hunt him in his sleep and the undefined meaning of his words, the possibility that he was making Kiyoomi play his game like some puppet in the hand of some spoiled kid, made him feel sick to his stomach because he didn’t mean that. He _didn’t_.

He bit his tongue until he tasted blood to prevent his façade from falling showing just how unsettled and rotten, he felt. From behind his back he heard Meian clear his throat as an effective way to shut up the whispering that had taken up after Atsumu’s last words.

He was still staring at Kiyoomi and Kiyoomi was staring back at him in what he thought fury looked on him and that edge to his eyes -that he knew he had already seen somewhere, but couldn’t pinpoint where in his memory and what it stood for- was back, making his stare unbearable.

He said “you suck” and turned to leave and if Atsumu hadn’t been so shaken he would have let it be as the immature retort that it was, but all he could see, like the white light at the end of an infinitely black tunnel, was the back -the same he had found himself staring at so many times- retreating, emphasizing the bottomless crack that had opened between them and that he didn’t know how to overcome.

Atsumu had never been scared of jumping, he was the first that 5-years-old and rash had leaped over the frozen pond near their grandparents’ house, Osamu following when he saw the ice hadn’t given under the first impact. He had always been the first to jump into the unknown, always hungry for more, always thriving to be that bit better. But now he felt like his feet were so heavy they had caved into the concrete under him and he was stuck, unable to lift his knees, and Kiyoomi had turned away and was getting out of reach-

Without realizing his action, he had actually reached out aiming to grab Kiyoomi’s wrist, his fingertips grazed the pale skin under which thrummed the pulse point, before the limb was all but snatched away from his reach.

Kiyoomi flinched hard, twirling on his feet so fast he almost lost balance, Atsumu mirrored him, his shoulders jumping to his ears as he took a half step back.

Several gasps resounded around them but all Atsumu could hear was the rush of his blood and the wild thudding of his heart. Damn him and his impetuousness.

“Don’t”, that single word grated out of Kiyoomi’s throat sounding more like a growl than anything else. Atsumu was frozen in place and he must have looked horrible because the skin of his face felt like it was splitting just as a broken mirror would.

And it hurt more than being rejected could have hurt and the door to the bathroom was closing in front of him and he was left staring at a now empty space.

And he had probably royally fucked up.

He went through his changing routine in a haze, muscle memory doing most of the job while his mind swam between thoughts that sped by like racing cars.

He was one of the last to leave and was surprised to find Kiyoomi standing near that same streetlight where he had waited for him the first time. A small, almost self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips as he reached the other and they walked off towards the train station like every day in the past month.

Because Atsumu didn’t feel content if he didn’t run his mouth like his former captain had wisely stated some time back, he said “you really have nothing better to do than wait for me like a good lap dog, dont’ya?”

“Shut your trap”, Kiyoomi took up the pace forcing Atsumu to half jog in order to not fall a step behind.

He made it his objective to keep his mouth closed the least amount of time possible, then, a mantra of ‘Omi-Omi, Omi-Omi, Omi-Omi’ and ‘Omi-kun, Omi-kun, Omi-kun’ tumbling out of his lips as they raced their way to the station.

On their frenzied way to the terminal they hadn’t noticed that the usual space between them had shrank to a mere hand width and Atsumu left shoulder tingled on the spot where it had bumped into Kiyoomi’s after one brusque turning.

It had become routine to Atsumu, to realize things the moment he stepped through the door of his flat, like if under the doormat there was a hidden button that kick-started a roll in which was recorded his day and he saw things that had previously passed unnoticed.

It was an understatement saying that realization hit him like one of Samu’s most vicious kicks to the gut, it left him gasping for air, the crawling in his chest finally cracking it open to free all the constricted and denied feelings he had harboured until now over some curly headed idiot.

It was physically painful and it made him double over like he was going to retch, only for a strangled laugh to pass his lips. He kept his eyes squeezed tightly, knowing all too well that if he opened them, the wetness he felt would overflow.

He had been a blind idiot all this time, searching for proofs where he knew he wouldn’t find them.

 _I wouldn’t say something I don’t mean_ and it was as clear as it had always been now that Atsumu knew it.

Kiyoomi would never agree to something he didn’t want without calling it quits since the start. He wouldn’t stick himself in situations he usually tried to avoid at all costs for someone he _didn’t like -_ and Atsumu couldn’t recall one person he liked, so he had most likely lacked contest.

The _epiphany_ -because really what else could it have been at this point- occurred to him in the form of an embarrassing image of himself dozing and drooling on Kiyoomi’s shoulder, lulled by the motion of the train, head cushioned on the world’s flattest pillow. And he hadn’t woken up because someone harshly shoved him away, but because he dropped his phone and the sound it made as it clattered to the floor sounded like a hundred grenades in his dream-driven mind.

He managed not to notice any of that and Kiyoomi didn’t utter a word as they eventually parted ways but now that image was there, snuggled deep behind his eyes and imprinted in his memory, making the open hole in his chest hurt for how nice it felt.

He phoned his brother that night but the other line never picked up, he fell asleep with the written warning to ‘don’t bother me with your sappy bullshit’ lighting up the cracked screen of his smartphone.

**Author's Note:**

> Punctuation is my enemy and this SakuAtsu is giving so many feels it actually drove me to write again. I had a lot of fun writing about this two disastrous boys and I thought i might as well as contribute to the growth of this pairing because they are OTP.  
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
